


Always

by LadyOrpheus



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Ignis, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, minor blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOrpheus/pseuds/LadyOrpheus
Summary: "When the first petals come spilling out from his lips Ignis stares down at them in indignation.How utterly inconvenient, he thinks."





	Always

When the first petals come spilling out from his lips Ignis stares down at them in indignation. 

How utterly inconvenient, he thinks. As advisor to the prince he has no time for something as bothersome as love. He wonders how he’d even managed to find the time to fall in love in the first place. It simply would not do. 

That very same day Ignis books an appointment with the Citadel physician. She is kind enough to squeeze him in between his meeting with the ministers for finance and his usual duties for the prince after school. 

After the usual pleasantries Ignis presents the Doctor with the offending petals: tiny, delicate curls of white wisteria. 

“Ah. I see” She hums. 

Ignis resists the urge to cough lest he produce more of them. “I understand that time is of the essence with Hanahaki so I’d like to schedule a procedure as soon as possible.”

At this the doctor’s eyebrows rise. She proceeds to go about the usual motions: blood pressure, a stethoscope to his chest. 

“Well,” she says finally. “It seems as though you’re in the early stages yet. I’ll have to get an x-ray to be sure but the root system is fairly weak early on so surgery should be a viable option.” She gives him a tight lipped smile that is probably meant to be warm. “I do have to advise, however, that it is still not without risks. The best and safest option is always going to be resolution.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

The tight smile returns, “You might find that things are not always so dire as they appear. You could—”

“It’s not possible,” Ignis snaps, “because I don’t know who it is.”

\-------------------------------------

Ignis leaves the office with an appointment for a series of chest x-rays and an half-hearted promise that he would “think about it.”

By his account there is nothing to think about. So he doesn’t think about it all the way to Noctis’s school and he doesn’t think about it some more as the car idles in the parking lot. 

This…affliction that has invaded his lungs would only impede his duty to the crown. His mystery infatuation would kill him if left rooted and distract him if pursued. No, the only option was to nip it in the bud. Pun entirely intended. 

It mattered little if the emotions and the disease were intertwined, that to cut out one was to remove the other. If Ignis didn’t even know who his traitorous heart had managed to fall in love with, what did it matter if he amputated it like the dead weight that it was?

Ignis is not thinking about it so hard he almost misses Noct’s approach, the ever faithful Prompto at his side. 

“Shotgun!” The prince calls. 

But Prompto breaks into a laugh and a run, “You forgot to call no blitz!”

After a dash to the car and a brief tussle at the handle, Prompto ultimately emerges the victor, crowing like he’s 12 not 18. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Noct gives his friend’s shoulder one last shove before climbing in the back seat, “more room to spread out back here anyways.”

Taking advantage of just that, Noct spreads himself sideways across the back and closes his eyes to do what Noct does best.

“Man, what a superpower to have: take naps anywhere.” Prompto says with no small amount of awe. 

Ignis looks in the rear view mirror and confirms that Noctis has indeed fallen asleep not even a block away from the school parking lot. Ignis continues to steal glances at the sleeping prince throughout the drive. It’s second nature at this point, unconscious, almost like breathing. Noct’s face is almost unbearably peaceful while he sleeps, Ignis cannot help the fiercely protective urge that roars in his chest. 

Only once does Noctis blink awake, when a particularly rude flatbed attempts to pass them and Ignis responds with his own tap on the horn. Prompto lets out a choice four letter exclamation before he blushes and looks embarringly at Ignis who is too preoccupied with the occupant in the back seat. 

“Nothing to worry about, highness,” Ignis reassures. “Once you’re driving, be sure to check your blind spots. They’re larger than you expect.”

\-------------------------------

Ignis is nothing if not disciplined. He doesn’t allow himself to think about it for a full four hours, long after Prompto and Noct are safely holed up in Noct’s apartment playing something bright and noisy. It provides the perfect cover for Ignis’s existential crisis in the kitchen. He idly stirs a pot of simmering curry and reasons. 

In his wildest dreams Ignis could never have imagined _this_. Once upon a time he’d thought vaguely of Hanahaki as something beautifully tragic, perhaps romantic even if Ignis wouldn’t describe himself as a particularly romantic person. But now it is only a noose. 

Even in the early stages, the procedure could kill him. Ignis glances furtively towards the living rooms where Prompto has let out a whoop of indignation at some sort of explosion on screen. Noctis’s head is thrown in a bright laugh. More importantly, who will care for Noctis if Ignis does not survive?

Unthinkable. He’s life will just have to be a stubborn bastard.

In spite of his assertion a persistent cough makes its way up Ignis’s throat. He can feel the petals clawing their way onto his tongue when a mop of dark hair peers over the counter.

“Smells good, Iggy,” says the prince. When Noct spies the orange-ish tint to the dish he squints his eyes and asks, “No carrots, right?”

Ignis tries to control his breathing, swallows down his secret flowers. They are so very bitter. “No carrots, highness.” Ignis places a hand on an ache in his chest, “I promise.”

Noct blinks a few times, staring incredulously at Ignis and the simmering pot before he nods and returns to the television without another word. Ignis decides not to inform Noctis of the parsnips he’s hidden among the potatoes. Or the root system hidden in his lungs. It’s for the best.

\--------------------

By the time Ignis leaves Noct’s apartment it is well past what any civilized individual would think of as an appropriate hour. The fall air is damp and cool. Not a night for going out, but Ignis calls Gladio anyways and breathes a sigh of relief when the shield answers.

“Iggy,” Gladio says in his customary direct way. “All good?”

“I find I am in desperate need of a drink.” Ignis can practically hear Gladio’s eyebrows hit his hairline as Ignis steps on to the sidewalk

“You? That bad, huh?”

Before Ignis can respond a sleek citadel car comes purring around the corner. Gladiolus Amicitia leans across from the driver’s side to throw open the door.

Ignis glares. “You,” he points an accusing finger at the larger man, “are on limited duty, Gladiolus.” The freshly healed wound on Gladio’s face is still an angry red, preparing to scar. “What, pray tell, are you doing on surveillance?” Nevertheless Ignis slides into the passenger seat and clicks in his seat belt before resuming his glare.

Gladio merely grins lopsidedly and winks, “Not surveillance. Just,” shrug, “keeping an eye out.”

“Just ‘keeping an eye out’. Of course.” Ignis’s words drip with disbelief, but he says no more as Gladio tears away from the curb. He is grateful for the continued silence during their drive to Gladio’s favorite dive.

Indeed neither of them say another words until Ignis has polished off his first two fingers of bottom shelf scotch half hoping the cheap burn will shrivel the fragile flora inside him. The barstool next to him groans under Gladio’s weight as he nurses something bright and fruity. Anyone who looks at the strange juxtaposition of giant man and tiny cocktail glass gets a gruesome Gladiolus glare, new scar and all. 

Gladio waits for the bartender to refill Ignis’s glass before he starts to prod. “So,” he waits again for Ignis to swallow. “Something on your mind, Iggy?”

Ignis takes a moment to study his companion. As usual, Gladio has an excessive amount of skin on display, a perfectly chiseled specimen. Silently, Ignis wills his heart to skip, ache, anything. Let it be him, Ignis thinks. Let it be simple. Gladio was young, foolish Ignis’s first everything else. Why couldn’t he have been Ignis’s first love? But the longer Ignis stares the more it becomes apparent: Gladio might elicit a certain warm affection, but he was not the object of Ignis’s traitorous desires. The petals, for now, remained firmly at the back of Ignis’s throat. 

“Gladio,” Ignis finally starts, pausing briefly to clear his throat, thankfully sans any more incriminating petals, “Do you ever wish you could do something else?”

“Something else?” Gladio takes a sip through a comically small cocktail straw. “Not a shield of the crown, you mean.”

When Ignis just nods Gladio presses on, “Well, hard to say. Never known anything else.” A great shoulder shrugs.

Ignis huffs, “If the royal family was no more, then, what would you do? No,” a wince, “apologies that’s not quite right. If they never existed. If you weren’t you. If I weren’t me. What would we be do you think?”

Gladio blinks owlishly at Ignis before he asks, “Iggy, are you drunk?” At Ignis’s indignant sigh Gladio pauses to think more on it. “Six, I don’t know. Does it matter? We are who we are. I don’t know who some _other_ me would be. Does anyone?” A calculating look. “You’re not thinking of quitting on me?”

“No!” Ignis insists quickly. “No, Astrals. I suppose I’m feeling rather maudlin today. I don’t know who I’d be either I just--Being us is not very easy sometimes, is it?”

Gladio laughs, full bellied and claps Ignis on the shoulder. Why couldn’t it be _you?_ Ignis thinks again. It would be easy if it was you.

“No. No it isn’t,” Gladio agrees. He downs the rest of his drink in a single swig and signals the bartender for another round. “But Six knows the kid would be lost without us.”

Ignis couldn’t agree more

\---------------

Ignis leaves after the third round. Gladio offers to go with him, call him a cab, whatever he’d like, but Ignis declines. He could do with the walk and fresh air. More thinking to be done. He leaves Gladio to charm the pants off the entire bar.

The night air has morphed into something cool and clear. For now, Ignis can fill his lungs unfettered by flowers or coughs. He wonders how long that could possibly last. The prognosis varies. Two years? Maybe three?

Generally, there are three methods of recourse. Ignis’s heart thuds as he considers each:

Option 1: Reconciliation. A confession. A bit difficult when he’s not sure who he’s meant to be confessing to. Absurdly, he thinks briefly about how one might go about confessing to a stranger. Take out an advert? Rent a Billboard? He can’t help but laugh at himself. 

Option 2: Surgery. Excise the disease at its source. Kill his love instead of himself. A risk for sure, but surely the only viable option. Why then does his heart ache so at the mere thought?

Option 3: Do nothing. Hardly the dutiful thing to do, to leave his monarch stranded all because Ignis is apparently incapable of handling his own emotions. Dying would be rather unfortunate, too.

Perhaps, Ignis thinks as he badges into the apartment complex, it is someone else in the Crownsguard. Or even the Kingsglaive. Any one of them would be complicated, maybe, but not impossible. He calls the elevator and runs through the list: the handsome glaive who’d helped him perfect his spell daggers? No, his heart beats without a blip. Six help him, _Cor?_ No. Thank the gods. A woman, maybe? No, that much at least he was sure of.

It wasn’t until he’d opened the door that Ignis realized his feet had taken him to Noctis’s apartment instead. He froze for a minute in the doorway, a moment away from turning back to the hall when he spied the nearly empty bowl of curry.

_Nearly_ empty because Noctis had somehow managed to pick around the parsnips. “Damn,” Ignis swore with that special blend of exasperation of fondness. Almost on auto-pilot he scooped up the abandoned dish and scraped it clean in the sink. Just for that Ignis was going to thicken all of Noctis’s soups with pureed carrots. 

Speak of the devil… a soft snore informed Ignis of Noctis’s presence on the living room couch, dead to the world, still dressed, curled up in the comfiest corner, a collection of Ignis’s summarized reports scattered around him. Ignis couldn’t help but smile softly. Oh, Noctis. He set down the bowl and wiped his hands on the overused dish towel before he made his way beside the couch. 

Ignis is loathe to wake the sleeping prince. His face truly does look so much more peaceful, unburdened. But Noct will not appreciate the crick in his neck tomorrow morning. He reaches to gently shake Noctis shoulder, starts to whisper, “Highn--” before Ignis is cut off by a sudden and suffocating cough.

It is all encompassing, burning. It feels like his throat is being torn apart. A small fistful of white petals spill into Ignis’s palm.

“Wassat?” A sleep heavy voice asks

Ignis clenches his fist tightly closed, crushing the evidence of his shame tightly. He looks up to find Noctis bleary-eyed and sleep warm blinking slowly at him with, grey-blue eyes catching the moonlight. 

Oh. Oh no.

“Iggy?”

Ignis closes his eyes. This can’t be true. It can’t be. It simply _cannot be_.

“Apologies, highness. I thought you might prefer your own bed.” There is a trickle of something at the corner of Ignis’s mouth. He knows it is blood. He prays Noctis cannot see in the darkness.

“Oh.” Noctis glances around like his apartment is a very strange place to be and Ignis takes the opportunity to wipe the blood away. “Yeah.” Blink, blink. “Thanks, Iggy.” Small, fragile smile.

As Noctis leaves for the warmth of his own bed Ignis cannot help but think: well. _Fuck_.


End file.
